honesty
by vapanalley
Summary: Let it never be said that Victoire was never honest. That is to say, she was always honest.


A/N: This was written in, like, fifteen minutes. Literally. I was tired and feeling crackish, so even I don't know what the meaning to all of this is. :)

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. _

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-Honesty-

Let it never be said that Victoire was never honest. That is to say, she was always honest. She tries not to lie to others, and strives to be reliable and kind. She aims to be a Healer or a Juriswizard, and she has managed to pick up that no small amount of honesty is needed in either of those professions. Integrity is important when dealing with patients and their loved ones. Blunt honesty is important to deal with those who disagree with who she might defend in the future.

Her current aim is to learn how not to lie to herself. To try and see more and more of the world through different eyes even though she knows she should be studying.

She is curled up on a loveseat in the Gryffindor common room, and ignores the feeling of her legs going numb. Fifth years get to stay up extra late during O.W.L.S., and no one pays them a second glance when her year mates (or herself) are found sleeping in the common room instead of in their own beds.

Victoire is trying hard to concentrate on her Potions notes, but it might as well be impossible. She had just gotten back from a harrowing Astronomy class a few hours ago when the sky was still clear, and her mind is whirring with the possibilities. It was a full moon tonight, and the stars seemed particularly bright. The Astronomy professors voice was quiet but powerful when he spoke of the legends behind the naming of the constellations. His words had sunken into Victoire, and swam deep, deep, deep into the dark caves that pockmark her heart. Her mind wanders into territory that is new and dark and beautifully strange.

The world is never as you see it, she realizes. Up until then there had been a simple order in her world. She is good at Transfiguration. She does not like Potions. She is a Weasley. She has war heroes for family. She is an eighth of a Veela. But what are these facts to anyone else? They are nothing. Muggles know nothing about magic and that is their universe. Her universe is full of magic and strangeness, but what is to say that that is all there is? She is stuck in a mental rut that shouts out _what if_ like some kind of demented clown giddy on too much sherry. The world she knows is not what everyone knows and the simple order she had built for herself is crumbling. She hates honesty sometimes. And puberty.

Teddy stumbles into the common room on unsteady feet. He runs a hand through his hair like he does only when he is troubled or nervous. His hair is straggly and brown, and he holds out his other hand to steady himself against a nearby wall. One hand is covering his eyes as if the light hurts, and he seems to breathing in quick shallow breaths.

"Are you alright?" Victoire asks with a distant kind of voice. She is worried that Teddy might not be feeling well, but she is still swimming in those dark caves that sparkle with light and steal away special things. She is a little lost at the moment.

"Yeah. Fine." His voice is gravelly, and his answers are curt.

"I think you should sit down." Victoire says as she surfaces a bit. She really is worried. She pats the spot empty spot next to her. Teddy looks torn for a moment before practically dropping down next to her.

"Potions? Terrible stuff." And he says it in such a vehement way as if he is trying to distract himself.

Victoire surfaces a bit more. The Teddy she knows is easy going, and definitely not the tense boy before her. Then she remembers it's the full moon.

She reaches out a hand to touch his forehead, but he flinches away.

"The full moon got you down?" Victoire asks quietly.

"Yeah."

"It's got me down too. I'm thinking too much about what could be and how it could be and what we hope for and what it means to live and love and exist. Why are we even here, you know?"

Teddy takes a deep breathe before murmuring a quiet assent to her questions.

"Yeah. It's hard. It doesn't get easier I suppose. It's not easier right now."

And then everything is silent. Victoire is trying to be honest, but she decides that O.W.L.S. are getting to her and that she might as well lie to herself on just this one occasion. O.W.L.S. have caused more than a few panic attacks this year. And her little white lie to herself is that she doesn't feel relief that someone like Teddy could be sitting next to her telling her he feels the same way about existence. Existence is a strange moment, and she suddenly remembers that strange woman that is sometimes invited to Weasley weddings. Lovegood. And maybe she's lying some more when she thinks she doesn't enjoy having Teddy all to herself for a moment. She has learned to share, but that doesn't mean monopoly can be a bad thing at times.

She sits still as she listens to Teddy's breathing even out. She's sinking again, into that strange place where so many questions bubble. She had not even realized that it was such a lonely place until Teddy came. She doesn't feel quite so alone as she thinks and mulls and muses over and over again the same questions from different points of views. She's swimming through the cold waters that aren't so cold anymore. When Victoire feels Teddy's head sink onto her shoulder, she is already asleep herself. He is a steady weight that reminds her that at the bottom of the pool in the dark crevices of her heart he is waiting with haunted eyes and turquoise hair.


End file.
